


Not a Pervert

by Sharkaiju



Category: F is for Family (Cartoon)
Genre: Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Repressed Bisexuality, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharkaiju/pseuds/Sharkaiju
Summary: "It takes a man to understand what another man wants." Or, Vic gives Frank a blow job and Frank freaks out about it. Set at the end of season one/the episode "O Holy Moley Night". Warnings: dubious consent due to Frank being drunk, internalized homophobia.
Relationships: Frank Murphy/Vic Reynolds
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	Not a Pervert

**Author's Note:**

> I can't be the only one who ships them, right? Lol. Anyway I headcanon Frank as a repressed bisexual and I wanted to explore that. I should also mention Vic doesn't think/know he did anything wrong here and doesn't see this as cheating (because personally I thought the shit that went down later with Cutie Pie and Kevin, the way he reacted I mean, seemed way OOC for him tbh). I also played around with the order of events here a little, but this is supposed to take place at the end of "O Holy Moly Night".

He wasn't a pervert. And it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault he got fired at fucking Christmas, it wasn't his fault Bob Pogo was a god damn pig-faced son of a bitch, it wasn't his fault that Vic would fuck anything that moved, it wasn't his fault that he had been drunk off his ass. Okay, maybe that one was his fault. It definitely led to the previous part. But he wasn't a pervert. He was just a drunk idiot.

A drunk, depressed, lonely, horny idiot.

Christ, it's not like he could have gone home to Sue after that. He was humiliated, emasculated. He probably wouldn't have even been able to get it up, and that was an embarrassment he didn't need right now. He was already _this_ close to suicide, and not being able to get a boner for his fucking wife probably would have sent him over the edge.

_Ya sure got a boner for Vic, though, didn't ya, Frankie?_ a mean little voice said in his head. Frank screwed his eyes shut and forced the thought away. It wasn't his fault. He wasn't a pervert. 

He didn't even remember going over to Vic's last night. He remembered being in the car, puking that fucking sandwich all over the window that he would have sworn was rolled down (it wasn't, as he found out seconds too late). Then nearly crying in the car, suddenly parked on his street though he couldn't remember driving home, _'Silent Night'_ blaring on the radio. Then screaming at those two hippie freaks boning on the hood. He didn't even remember getting out of the car, just suddenly being in the cold air and shouting expletives. So much rage in him that his head ached and blood thundered in his ears and behind his eyes. He had to channel what he felt into rage because rage was something he understood, something he knew how to deal with. He didn't know how to feel... whatever it was he felt. But rage - oh, he knew how to feel that.

Vic had shown up out of nowhere, his relaxed drawl somehow piercing through Frank's shouting and the roar of blood. "Hey, Frank, come on, buddy, let's get you a beer, calm you down." That abyss of emotion was threatening to swallow him again, so Frank allowed himself to be led away, allowed a beer to be pressed into his shaking hand, allowed himself to gulp it down on top of the corn whiskey already sloshing in his belly. It was that lime-tasting Mexican beer, not Frank's brand, but he found himself downing it like the shit was good. Another one followed it, and another, then so many he lost count, and only then did Frank realize he was in Vic's house, that he was sitting on Vic's couch. How the hell had that happened? 

The motion of the waterbed couch made him nauseous, but in a giddy, butterflies sort if way. Frank wobbled it underneath himself, belched, laughed harshly. The sound felt disconnected from himself. He couldn't think of anything to laugh about.

"I got fired today," he slurred. He wasn't sure if he'd already told Vic that or not. He wasn't really sure why he was telling him at all. They weren't really even friends. Maybe that made it easier.

"Damn, man, that's rough," Vic had said. His pupils were huge and dilated. Frank wondered why he was noticing that, wondered how he'd never noticed how blue Vic's eyes were, then wondered why Vic was sitting so close, close enough for him to see his blue eyes and his strange huge pupils. "These big companies, they don't give a shit about anybody, man. It should all be about the brotherly love, ya know?"

Frank didn't know, but he continued anyway. "I can't go home to Sue." He wasn't sure if he was speaking out loud or not. "I can't tell her, Vic. She... she'd leave me." He hiccuped. "She'd say, she'd say her old man was right... about me." He pushed the heel of his hand under his glasses and against his eye. "Hell, he _was_ right. I oughtta just... just... blow my fucking brains out."

"Hey, don't talk like that," Vic had said, and he actually sounded like he _meant_ it, like he _gave a shit_ about Frank. "You're not thinkin' straight, buddy. You just need to let off some steam. Ya know what I mean?"

Then there was a pressure on his thigh, and Frank looked down and saw Vic's hand resting there. Frank stared at it, trying to make sense of what it was doing there, but he couldn't, because it made no sense. Vic liked women, and so did Frank, and Frank was _married,_ for fuck's sake, so why was his hand on Frank's knee like that?

Then Vic was leaning over, and then he was kissing Frank on the mouth, and Frank was just sitting there like an idiot and letting it happen. It wasn't until Vic gently broke the kiss that Frank seemed to really grasp what had happened, and he sputtered stupidly, "Vic - Vic, what the hell!"

"Ssh, it's okay," Vic said, soothingly, and though he sounded very sure of himself Frank felt quite certain that everything was _not_ okay. Vic slid off the couch, crouching between Frank's knees, and he started to feel like this was _definitely_ not okay at all. Vic's hands went to Frank's belt, unfastening it, and Frank was about to voice his concerns that everything was _emphatically not okay_ , when Vic said huskily, "It takes a man to understand what another man wants, baby."

He reached into Frank's underwear and pulled out his cock. Frank was surprised to see he had an erection. Where the fuck had that come from? He didn't want to think that he'd gotten hard from that kiss, from Vic's hands on his thigh. But he was having trouble thinking at all. The booze seemed to be like a heavy blanket over his brain, slowing his thoughts, slowing his body even more. None of this even felt very real.

But the sudden heat of Vic's mouth around his cock sure felt real. It caught Frank off guard, and he moaned a little, forgetting everything but the sensation. God, it felt good. This wasn't like how Sue did it at all, and that realization brought him to mind just what was going on, who was doing it. What Vic was doing. What _he_ was doing.

But he couldn't stop it. He couldn't bring himself to tell Vic to stop, to shove him off, to do anything except moan disgustingly as this man he hardly knew sucked his cock. 

Vic swirled his tongue around the head as he sucked, his hand forming a ring around the base as he pumped Frank in time with his sucking. Frank mumbled a swear, his eyes screwed shut behind his fogged glasses. He knew on some level that this was beyond wrong but he couldn't think straight. He grabbed Vic's shoulder as if to push him away, but instead he fisted his hand in Vic's shirt and groaned and came down Vic's throat. 

"See, now you're feelin' better," Vic said, as if that had been a totally normal exchange. Frank felt the cold air on his wet, deflating cock and felt sick. 

"I... I gotta go," he slurred, trying to get to his feet. The damn waterbed couch seemed to be pulling him into oblivion. He thrashed against it, nausea rising in his throat, threatening to explode.

"Hey, man, it's okay, no big deal," Vic was saying, his hands grasping Frank's arms, pulling him to his feet. Frank could feel his face burning red as he fumbled to put himself away, trying to refasten his pants. "Just a little b.j. between friends, am I right?" He laughed, patted Frank on the back. "Hey, Cutie Pie, come help me get Frankie home, huh?"

"No, I... I can make it on my own," Frank insisted. His mind was spinning. He just knew he had to get out of this house, away from what had just happened, away from the implications of it.

"Suit yourself, man," Vic said as Frank stumbled out the front door. He made it about halfway across the lawn before he doubled over and puked, a vile mix of bourbon and beer and traces of that damn sandwich. He heard Vic call at him from the doorway - "Hey, Frankie, you alright? I'm worried about you, man!" - but he ignored it, stumbling into his own yard and through the front door.

He wasn't a pervert. That's what he'd told himself as he tripped into the living room and collapsed on the couch, his breath still stinking of liquor puke, his pants still unbuckled. He wasn't a pervert, he told himself again the next morning, when he woke up with a hangover that didn't quite erase the memory of last night. Fuck, telling Sue he got fired would be easier than telling her about last night. Not that he had any intention of telling _anyone._

What was to tell, anyway? He didn't do anything wrong (so he told himself). He hadn't wanted it to happen (so he told himself). He wasn't a pervert... so he told himself.

But thinking about what Vic had said - " _It takes a man to understand what another man wants_ " - and feeling himself stiffen again, it was getting more and more difficult to make himself believe that any of that was true.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos are appreciated ❤ My tumblr is sharkaiju <\---


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